


Ride Historic on the Floral Road

by GeneralSan_3



Series: Mad Max: Floral Road [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, F/M, Fluff, Furiosa is a former gang member who started a flower shop to get out of her bad life, Mad Max AU, Multi, The Wives ship Max/Furiosa, and Max is the semi-inarticulate stranger who comes in three times a week and buys flowers, and found each of the wives and gave them jobs and dignity, just to see Furiosa, mad max fury road - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:58:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4494477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralSan_3/pseuds/GeneralSan_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on this prompt:</p><p>"i’m a florist and you keep buying flowers from me and what do you mean it was my fault we didn’t get together earlier you were buying flowers i assumed you had a lover au"</p><p>I wanted something fluffy but that stayed fairly true to the characters? But because I am shipper trash I needed lots of fluff so don't expect a lot of dwelling on the darker side of the story. Joe makes an appearance but it's not long.</p><p>Part 1 of my Mad Max: Floral Road series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr. Incommunicative

The bell over the door rang late in the afternoon and Furiosa cringed before turning around, trying to force a smile onto her face. But never mind, it was only that tired-looking man with the leather jacket, his eyes sliding over her as usual to land on some inoffensive object, like a bucket of glads or the funeral tripod that Toast was wrapping with burlap ribbon.

She glanced back to see that Angharad had also looked up in alarm at the noise, and was now stabbing roses into a vase with unnecessary force.

Furiosa turned back to the customer. "Here for the usual?" she asks. Usually she wouldn't even be dealing with customers, but Cheedo's forehead was furrowed over the 'autumn flowers but make it contemporary' arrangement she was working on and Capable was nowhere to be seen, so Furiosa was left to deal with this situation.

He grunted, surprisingly forthcoming coming from him, and started flipping through a seasonal catalogue and avoiding her gaze. She avoided rolling her eyes by a narrow margin and left him to it, wondering why everything irritating always seems to happen at once.

"Where is that delivery guy?" she asked the world at large, glaring at the table of finished arrangements which were supposed to be picked up twenty - no, she looked at her watch - _thirty freaking minutes ago._ "I told him that if he was late one more time," she began, not even sure who she was complaining to. Angharad glanced up in sympathy.

"I'm sure Nux just got held up on the morning run," she said. "Do you want me to start taking some of them?"

"No," Furiosa scrubbed a hand through her shorn hair and tried to smile through her weariness. "Keep working on the demos for the Citadel wedding. If he's not here in five minutes, I'll take the four o'clock ones myself."

A grunt from behind her reminded her of her other duty, and she tried to hitch a smile as she turned back to the man by the counter. He laid the book open to a page and tapped a orange rose and baby's breath concoction, then mumbled -

"Need it by tonight. Is that OK?"

She felt her eyebrows raise fractionally, but managed to keep the bulk of her astonishment off her face. She honestly had never heard him say so much at a stretch. "Not a problem, of course - if our delivery man ever shows up. Let's just look you up in the system,," she continued, clicking into the computer and trying for an integrating smile.

"No - I'll come get it," he said, so quietly that she almost had to lean towards him to catch it.

"Sure, that's fine," she replied. "Name on the card? Message?"

He shook his head in denial of both, and she tried not to let her exasperation show. "Oookayyy, name of sender?"

He seriously looked as if he's considering denying this as well, and she was about to launch into an explanation of why they actually need this information, when he said, “Last name is Rockatansky.”

She typed it in and looked at the list of prior purchases, then rattled off the saved phone number for him. "That you? OK. It should be ready in a couple of hours. Are you sure you don't want a card -?"

She looked up and he was already out the door, limping on his left leg a little. She sighed heavily and leaned her head against her arm.

"Is it just me, or is he actually getting weirder," Toast remarked, glaring at the lilies she's been tucking into the frame.

Capable was back from wherever she had disappeared to, and remarked mildly, "I think it's sweet. He obviously cares a lot about his wife."

"How naive are you, seriously?" Toast replied, tucking ribbon among the flowers with the help of twists of wire. "He's here, what, three times a week now? The guy is chasing tail, and probably more like three or four. Nobody spends that much on a girl he already has."

"Fascinating though this is," Furiosa interrupted, turning back to face the room, "You've got five more to do for that funeral before closing, so can you worry about something other than the sexual escapades of our most loyal customer? And you!" She whirled around to glare at the delivery boy, who shrunk guiltily under her glare and tried to hide behind the pot of hostas in his hand. He failed miserably, mostly because he was about as tall as the ceiling and his shaved head glistened like a spotlight. "How did you get in without ringing the bell? I warned you about being late, Nux."

He grinned desperately, eyes darting around the room. "Sorry ma'am, traffic . . ." Then he sprinted out of the room, an arrangement in either hand, and Furiosa would yell after him to be careful, if she thought it would do any good. Instead she gritted her teeth and returned to the computer, filling in the information on the form before printing it out and handing it to Cheedo.

"Can you handle this before six?" she asked.

"It'll be a relief," Cheedo muttered. "He always picks from the catalogue, which is so much less vague than some of the stuff I get. I'll take care of it."

Furiosa nodded, managing a smile at her newest protege, then headed for her office, wondering if recreational drugs would do any more for her headache than the normal stuff, nodded appreciatively at the frothy, somehow post-mod concoction the Dag had whipped up back in her corner, and closed her door behind her before something else could pop up to irritate her.

Honestly her office was little comfort. The phone light was blinking - probably that insane patriarch from the Citadel wedding - and light was streaming in, bright enough to exacerbate her headache even further. Piles of paperwork were strewn across her desk, time-sheets, scribbled quotes for weddings and funerals and conferences, slips of paper with messages on them, flower catalogues, invitations, bridal magazines, and stacks of flyers with _The Green Place_ emblazoned on them.

She had so much to do, and instead she turned her attention to her left arm. The prosthetic was digging into her stump, so she sighed heavily and unfastened it, letting it fall to the floor with a _thunk_. She massaged the stump, which ended a few inches below her elbow, and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment.

Then she sighed and reached for the "messages" button on the phone.

A low, growling voice filled the small office.

" _Afternoon, Miss Jobassa. We've carefully reviewed the samples you sent and have a few suggestions. Tomorrow afternoon I have time to meet with you for a few minutes. Make sure Miss Splendid is there, so that I may make recommendations to her personally._ _Leave a message with my secretary if necessary._ "

"I’ll tell you what’s necessary," Furiosa growled in response, hitting the “off” button with as much force as she can muster. "It's necessary to me that I don't have to see your creepy face any more."

For a wild moment she itched to place the call and say just that. But this wedding was big, the biggest they had that year, and she knew they simply couldn’t afford to jeopardize that.

So she went to get door and called out, "Angharad? Joe wants to meet with us tomorrow afternoon."

The stricken look on Angharad's face was answer enough, and Furiosa saw Capable wrap a comforting arm around the other woman before she turned back into her office and shut the door firmly.

* * *

The light was almost gone before she had finished sorted through the pile of time sheets and receipts, and the Dag leaned through her door, her almost white hair dangling around her pale, ethereal face. "The girls and I are calling it a night," she said. "Coming for drinks?"

Furiosa frowned at the flower order in her hand and shook her head. "Can't, but you ladies have fun. And stay safe!" she called after the Dag. The Dag smirked at her through the glass door and pulled a serious-looking can of mace out of her purse, wiggling it demonstratively. "Good," Furiosa said, nodding appreciatively. She vaguely heard the girls giggling as they donned their coats and left, but she didn't register the bell ringing again until she looked up and saw Mister Uncommunicative staring at her through the glass, standing just where the Dag had been.

She remained frozen for a few seconds, her mind still whirling with calculations and logistics, until it occurred to her that he's actually really standing there, probably waiting for her do more than gape at him.

So she stood, bones creaking wearily, and opened the door to regard him. He was still wearing that beat-up leather jacket, and his beard was probably a five-o'clock shadow a week ago, and as soon as she met his gaze his eyes slid off to the side as if they are magnets of the same pole. The same irritating nonsense she has to deal with every day, in other words, and she's so freaking done.

"It's after six," she said, pointing to the clock on the wall. "We're closed."

He nodded, his brow creasing. He didn't want to speak, she could see that, but he wanted to explain. "Red-haired girl let me in.”

Furiosa held back a sigh. _Capable and her misplaced sense of charity. I’m too tired for this._

“She was locking up - said I could pay you." He nodded across the room at where a lone mound of orange and white flowers waited patiently on a metal table. He held out a fist, and in it was a wad of crumpled bills. His gaze met hers, then skittered away.

A sudden sense of vulnerability struck her as she remembered that the nub of her arm was bare, and that her prosthetic was lying on the floor of her office several feet behind her. She shifted, trying to subtly hide the limb behind her, and gritted her teeth when she saw his eyes drawn to the movement. He met her eyes again - _twice in one day, a record_ \- but the question she feared never escaped his lips.

"Sorry . . . to have," he began, turning abruptly and lurching out of the room, his awkward gait somehow more pronounced. He banged out of the door and vanished into the darkness before she had time to even comprehend what just happened.

And that stupid catalogue arrangement was still sitting there, garish in the fluorescent lights.

 * * *

> _“Hey, Keep.”_
> 
> _“Is that Mary? Speak up love, you know I can't hear right."_
> 
> _“No, it’s Mary’s daughter, Furiosa. How are you tonight?”_
> 
> _“Oh, it’s little Fury! Can’t complain, dear. Well, I could. They’ve given me the stupidest roommate, honestly, not a speck of cop-on. You should come by and meet her.”_
> 
> _“I’ll do that. Hey, I called because I . . . I made a mistake. I’m not sure how to fix it.”_
> 
> _"You know what your mother would say about mistakes."_
> 
> _"Yes, Keep . . . But I'd love to hear you say it anyway."_
> 
> _"A mistake is something to sleep on and take care of in the morning. You sound wrecked, girl. Are you getting enough rest?"_
> 
> _"I, uh. Most nights I don't get much. Things are crazy over at the shop. It's good, we get a lot of business . . ."_
> 
> _“Nonsense. You work yourself too hard. When are you coming visit, girl? I'd like to see you and those charity cases you picked up."_
> 
> _"Would you stop calling them that? One day they'll hear you and then I won't have any designers anymore."_
> 
> _"They've heard worse, I'm sure."_
> 
> _"Keep. Knock it off. I'll come visit you when I can. I promise."_
> 
> _"Good. And Fury?"_
> 
> _"Yes Keep?"_
> 
> _"That mistake you made. Fix it - but get some sleep first."_
> 
>  


	2. Mr. I-Don’t-Even-Know-If-You-Have-A First-Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Two!
> 
> The story is 100% finished and I _was_ going to wait a few days before posting but all your comments made me SO EFFING HAPPY so here have another chapter.
> 
> (slight warning that Joe appears and is a mega creep but like I said, not dwelling on the darker aspects. Maybe in another fic. Also some fluff? Don't hurt yourselves squeeing into pillows :)

She woke up early, coming fully awake before her alarm had even beeped. After she had dashed down a cup of black coffee and a banana, she hit the gym for an hour, alternating between the kickboxing ring and running on the treadmill. When she was done, she was sweaty and gasping, but she felt alive and powerful. She checked her watch - five AM. Plenty of time to fix a mistake.

When she got to the shop it was dark and empty: all of the girls were late risers. Except Toast, of course, but today was her day off.

The arrangement was where she had left it in the display fridge, and it was only slightly wilted. She freshened it up, sprayed it with gloss, and wrapped it in plastic and a blue ribbon, then checked the information on the printed form.

Just a last name. _Rockatansky._ Not something to forget easily. There was an address, probably about a fifteen-minute drive. She’d offer the flowers on the house, of course, and write him a coupon for his next one free. Hopefully that would make up for her idiocy the night before.

* * *

" _Back_ , dog," a voice issued from behind the door, and all at once Furiosa realized what a dumb idea this whole thing had been, what had she been thinking, it would serve her right if he took one look at her with those dumb flowers and shut the door in her face -

He opened the door, and he was looking down at the shorthaired sheepdog he was holding by the collar, so it took him a moment to look up and recognize her. There was a long, embarrassed pause.

His hair was wet, as if he'd just had a shower, and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that she had not rinsed off after the gym, and that she was standing on his doorstep in her old and ratty running capris and a faded tank top, her hair probably in sweaty spikes from all the running, and it was a heck of a time to notice that he had eyes the color of forget-me-nots.

She cleared her throat and held out the flowers. He looked at them, but made no move to take them.

“Uh - you forgot your flowers.” She wished the earth would open up and swallow her. “Last night. I looked up your address and - um -”

For the love of all things holy, did he _know_ how to speak?

"I'm sorry I was so rude last night," she started, and once she began she found it hard to stop. "Yesterday was just a really long day - I was behind on time sheets because of this big funeral coming up, and there's this creep who keeps coming in to hit on Angharad while he plans his son's wedding, and it's really stressing her out, and that means that her designs aren't that great, and so he keeps coming back to make corrections, and I mean he is seriously creepy, and Cheedo is new so I have to babysit her a lot, she's honestly a lot better now but she gets really nervous when I leave her alone, so that leaves me even less time to get things done, and the rent is coming up next week and I honestly don't know how I'm going to cover that and all their paychecks, and I keep having nightmares that we all end up on the street again and . . ."

She trailed off, stung by how poleaxed he looked. The least he could do was _pretend_ interest, not just stare at her like she was an escapee from the loony bin, she was trying to _apologize_ for goodness' sake . . .

He blinked once, then stepped back from the door. "Um . . . you want coffee?" he asked.

And that was how she ended up sitting at Mister I-Don’t-Even-Know-If-You-Have-A First-Name’s kitchen table at six-freaking-thirty in the morning, sipping on coffee and nibbling on some kind of fruit Danish, and petting his altogether-too-friendly dog as it leaned against her legs. He didn’t talk much, even in his own house, although he met her gaze occasionally when he wasn’t puttering around the kitchen pretending to be doing stuff.

When the silence got too heavy, he’d glance around at her and that was her cue to speak. “I don’t think I’ve ever introduced myself,” she said. “I’m Furiosa. Furiosa Jobassa.”

“Hell of a name,” he mumbled, rooting around in the fridge for something that he never actually produced. There was a question in his eyes when he turned around, and she decided to spare him the pain of actually having to ask it.

“My mom was part of this all-female commune,” she said. “They chose their own names. Something about throwing off the shackles of the patriarchy and starting afresh. When I was thirteen I got my adult name, and I picked it myself. Call it a warning against letting a thirteen-year-old make any important decisions.”

His lips twitched at this, and he leaned against the counter in the most relaxed pose she’d ever seen him assume. He fetched a grease-stained rag from his back pocket and began wiping his fingers absently on it, although she couldn’t imagine that it had any cleansing effect. But it seemed to soothe him, and he actually raised his gaze to meet hers.

For some reason she couldn’t look at his face for more than a second, so she glanced down at his bare legs where they stuck out of his gym shorts, and noticed something she hadn’t before. There was a brace on his knee, the kind that was more than just a cloth wrap. It looked _serious_ , with metal parts clamped around and joints and all that. No wonder he limped. She looked back at his face, hoping she hadn’t been staring, and carefully didn’t ask.

He answered, anyway. “Car crash,” he grunted, and that was obviously the end of that. But then he glanced at her arm and looked at her, eyebrows raised inquiringly.

Well, she had started it. She lifted her arm and laid the prosthetic on the table, wincing at the thunk it made. “I - kinda had a wild childhood. Bad crowd and all that. It was really losing my arm that got me to wise up, get out of it. I didn’t even have the worst of it - I saw lots of bad stuff happen to a lot of people.”

He nodded, and murmured, “Gang?” before taking a sip of coffee.

“Yeah,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Actually, all of the girls who work in my shop are either from off the street or one of the battered women shelters. I offer classes, and the ones that stick with it I usually end up offering jobs. It’s worked out, for the most part.”

She took another sip, suddenly overwhelmed with the awkwardness of the situation. She knew literally nothing about this man - not even his first name. She looked at her watch and was shocked to see that it was almost seven, and bolted to her feet. “Um - sorry. I have to go. I really came by to make sure . . .” What was she even trying to say? Oh, yes. She dug in her pocket and pulled out the gift voucher. “I hope you keep coming back. The next arrangement is on us, yes? And sorry I have to run, I’m going to be late . . .”

He took the paper she shoved at his chest and followed her down the hallway to the door, holding it open for her while discouraging the dog from running out into the front yard with his foot. She glanced back at him and smiled, waved and said, “Goodbye!” a little breathlessly.

He closed the door as she climbed into her car and she took a moment to lay her forehead against the steering wheel. She felt as if she had acted like a complete idiot and she, Furiosa Jobassa, did not like be blindsided like that.

Exactly _what_ had been so surprising about it, she couldn’t even lay her finger on. But she really was late, and that introspection would have to wait for another time.

* * *

The morning was even more rushed and harried than the previous day, and she had only ticked off three of the items on her four-page “to-do” list when Capable rushed in and hissed, “ _He’s_ here.” The set of her face under the crown of red braids suggested that things were already unpleasant out there, so Furiosa rose with a sigh, searched through her cabinet for the pertinent file, and stumped wearily out into the workroom.

Angharad was sitting stiffly in her accustomed seat in the consultation area, her eyes fixed determinedly on a point high on the opposite wall. Her hands were clenched around the sketchbook on her lap, and her nostrils were flared.

In the seats opposite to her were sprawled two men, both built on an extremely large scale. One of them was young, his head as bald as a cue ball, his broad shoulders twitching under a very skimpy tank top. The other was much older, with long white hair, leaning back in his chair with his bloodshot gaze fixed on Angharad. There was a breathing apparatus strapped to his face, and a tank of oxygen parked next to him, and even from this distance Furiosa could hear the oppressive sound of his breathing.

Furiosa drew in a long, preparatory breath and nodded to Capable, who returned to her station with every sign of reluctance. Furiosa hitched a smile onto her face and walked up to the table, offering her hand to each man in turn. “Mr. Citadel . . . Ric . . . welcome,” she said, before dropping into the seat next to Angharad. “How can we help you today?”

“As I was just saying to your lovely friend here, Miss Jobassa,” Joe Citadel said in a deep, throbbing voice, his gaze never straying from Angharad’s face, “These designs are interesting, but they are simply not living up to her full potential.” He gestured to the two table arrangements between them and the floor arrangement placed next to the table. “I’ve seen her work before, and there is a delicacy of feeling . . . an intimacy, a rawness . . . that I cannot find in these. They are mediocre, not fit for my own son’s wedding.”

Angharad shuddered next to Furiosa, and Furiosa touched her knee gently with her flesh hand, smiling at the two men across the table. “These designs are exactly what was discussed, Mr. Citadel. Perhaps you can explain what you would like to change?”

He glanced at her, then his gaze returned to its contemplation of Angharad. “I selected Miss Splendid from among all the designers in our city because I saw a talent, a _mind_ I wanted to take hold of, to shape. A thing of beauty, a precious gem among all the refuse of mankind. What I want from you, Miss Splendid, is nothing less than _everything._ Not these feeble imitations of other men’s work.”

Furiosa glanced aside to see the muscles in Angharad’s throat flexing, as if she were holding a scream down. She turned back hastily, smiling as widely as she could. “Perhaps she could do some more demos for you? We’d be happy to get them done today, and send you pictures . . .”

She trailed off as the bell rang over the door, and in stepped Mister I-Think-A-Leather-Jacket-Is-A-Wonderful-Choice-For-Midday-In-A-Desert-In-August, peering around like a myopic cat, blinking when he met her gaze. He glanced at the scene, taking in Angharad’s tense posture, the two leering men, and his eyebrows twitched.

She thought that when he saw what was happening he’d turn right around and head back out the door. Or at least shuffle over to the counter and disappear into another catalogue.

Instead, she froze in surprise when she saw him stride over to the cash register, lean against the counter, casually facing the other two men, and even though he was not a tall man there was suddenly an aura of menace and power emanating from his expressionless face and still body. Furiosa saw Rictus’s eyes flick over to him, and then even Joe ripped his eyes away from Angharad’s top blouse button to glare over at the waiting figure.

“As you can see, we have other customers waiting,” Furiosa said calmly, trying not to grin. “We’ll have those demos ready by this evening. Thank you for coming in,” she rose, giving them no option but to follow, and nodded at Angharad, who got up like a jack-in-the-box and stomped away with her fists clenched at her sides. Furiosa shook Joe’s hand again and smiled at Rictus as she ushered them out the door and watched as they climbed into their shiny Cadillac and peel away from the curb, and seriously considered locking the door after them.

She turned, passing a hand over her forehead, and let out a shaky laugh. “I think that’s the first time we’ve gotten them out of here in less than an hour,” she said.

“Good thing,” Angharad snapped, running water over her hands at the sink and shaking them violently at the ground. “I was about to go for his jugular. I’ve met some pricks in my day, but . . .” Apparently she couldn’t give voice to her disgust, but turned towards Capable, who held out consoling arms and wrapped her in a hug.

Furiosa nodded thoughtfully and turned towards the man still waiting by the counter. At some point since Joe had left, he had deflated back to his twitchy-eyed, slumped-shoulder self, and when she walked up to him he tried to step backward, only to be halted by the counter.

“Did you come here just to help get rid of him?” she asked, thinking back furiously to try and remember if she’d mentioned that Joe was coming that day.

He frowned slightly, fumbling with the catalogue. “Here to use my coupon,” he grunted, jabbing a finger at a purple statice and yellow daylily arrangement. “Come back in an hour?” he asked.

She nodded, ducking her head to try and meet his eyes. “I’ll make sure that happens.” He glanced at her and nodded once, firmly - whether in solidarity or confirmation, she wasn’t sure. Then he turned and limped away.

“He’s a handy one to have around,” the Dag noted, moseying up to stand next to Furiosa, her head tilted as she watched him limp out. “Old Joe sure didn’t like having him there watching.”

Furiosa hummed in agreement, pretending to fill in a form as she surreptitiously appreciated the width of his shoulders under his jacket.

 

> _“Evening, Keep.”_
> 
> _“That sounds like Mary’s girl! You calling me for more advice?”_
> 
> _“No, just wanted to chat. Sorry I haven’t been by to see you. Are they treating you ok?”_
> 
> _“Oh, these doctors - they don’t know their hind end from a revolving door. But they’re kind about it, so I guess I can almost forgive incompetency. Hey, don’t laugh at an old lady. One day you’ll be in my position and you’ll understand.”_
> 
> _“Sorry, Keep. I’m just in a good mood today. I think I really need to sleep more.”_
> 
> _“Sleep-deprived hysteria. Get yourself home and into bed, girl.”_
> 
> _“I will, I promise. . . . Hey Keep?”_
> 
> _“What’s it now?”_
> 
> _“I love you, you know.”_
> 
> _“Well, I love you too, you idiot.”_
> 
> _“Night.”_


	3. Mr. I-Have-Pretty-Eyes-But-No-Apparent-Social-Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay thanks for all your lovely comments! They truly are writer's crack.
> 
> Lots of fluff in this chapter. References to Max's past, but nothing really spelled out. 
> 
> Also, there's more Nuxable in this one! I love them, I think maybe I'll write a sequel that is about them? If that sounds fun to you, let me know in the comments :) I mean, it is a flower shop, lots of weddings right?

She woke up smiling, until she looked at the clock and hissed a curse she had learned in the Warboy gang, because _she was late_. Again.

Toast and Angharad were already there when she burst in, and Capable arrived a few minutes later. Today was Cheedo’s day off, Furiosa noted as she checked the calendar. “How many have come in this morning?” she asked, glancing at the pile of papers by the printer.

“Six since last night on the website,” Toast replied, muttering under her breath. “Should we call in Cheedo?”

“No, let her rest for one day,” Capable said, flinging on her apron. “Angharad’s still working on the wedding, and you’ve got another funeral for tomorrow. I’ll handle the extras.”

Toast groaned. “ _Another_ funeral? Will these people just stop dying already. Where’s my stack? Show me the damage.”

Her complaints followed Furiosa across the room and she shut her door against the noise, glaring helplessly at the piles of paper drifting across her desk like sand dunes, always shifting but never going away.

She dove into sorting, filing the older papers and making stacks of the newer ones, until the stacks had grown to overwhelming size and were now all over the floor as well as the desk. She cradled her head in her hands and muttered, “I was _not_ cut out for paperwork.”

Eventually she just shoved them all towards the corner and sifted out a few that required urgent attention. She stepped out of her office and glanced around.

“Where’s Capable? I need her help on this estimate.” She was surprised, looking around, to see that the red-haired woman was nowhere to be found, and a quick glance at her watch assured her that it was far too early for lunch still. “Angharad?” she called. “Have you seen Capable?”

Angharad looked up quickly with a noncommittal shrug, and the other designers repeated the gesture as her gaze fell on them.

“Well, it’s ten AM, why aren’t these arrangements gone yet?” she asked, somewhat surprised. “Is that useless delivery boy late _again?_ ” she muttered, heading for the back fridge. Just as she reached it she heard low voices from the props room, followed by a quickly-stifled giggle. She reached for the door handle and hesitated. What would she do if she caught her second-best designer and the delivery boy canoodling in the back room? Nux she could do without. Capable, probably not.

She opened the door as softly as she could, peering in silently. Capable and Nux were sitting cross-legged, like children, between the shelves. Capable was talking in a low voice as Nux arranged some orange gerbera daisies in a brick of floral foam. As she watched, his long fingers gently pushed a wire through a flower with a broken stem and wrapped it in green tape. She had never seen him sit so still, or look so contented. And the look on Capable’s face as she watched him - ! Guilt welled up in the pit of Furiosa’s stomach and she backed away, shutting the door as gently as if there was a sleeping baby on the other side.

The keys to the van were hanging on their peg in the garage, and the van was parked out back just like she expected. She brought it around to the front and quietly loaded the arrangements into the back, checking the addresses and making a mental map to ensure maximum efficiency. Then she settled into the driver’s seat and started the car with a roar.

It felt good to be driving again. She had started out as a delivery driver when she left the gang, first for a butcher shop, then an electrical repair company, and then finally a flower shop. She had stayed there long enough to learn the business and decide to try it on her own. She had sold arrangements on street corners at first. Then a tiny shop on a narrow back street. Angharad had joined her there, a hard-mouthed girl, barely more than a teen, with an enormous swollen belly. Furiosa had helped her soften, and also put the baby up for adoption when he was born. When Capable had arrived, they needed more room so they took up residence in a strip mall next to a Dominos’ Pizza. The Dag had drifted in then, a tall skeleton who barely took up any room, followed quickly by Toast, who took up enough room for three people. Furiosa had found the lot while Toast was still doing her training, and had taken a breath for what felt like the first time. It was perfect. They moved in three months later and here they still were. The delivery van was something that Furiosa had acquired once her assessment of their financial situation was stable, and the delivery boy had followed not long after.

She thought about what she had seen in the back room and her shoulders tensed. It would be a shame, she thought, if after all that, they still didn’t trust her.

When she got back to the shop, the atmosphere was tense and electric. Nobody looked directly at her, although she could feel swift gazes passing over her as she came in the door and hung up the key. Toast met her eyes as she crossed the show floor and grimaced apologetically, and Cheedo stared at her with large, terrified eyes.

Nux was sitting at the work table next to Capable, his head bowed and his hands clamped over a glass bowl full of flowers. She stepped up to him, keeping her face carefully neutral.

He looked up, barely able to meet her gaze, and with tears welling up in his big blue eyes. “Um - I need to apologize.”

She held onto silence for another moment, then reached down for the arrangement in his hands. “Did you do this?” she said. He nodded miserably.

“But - I really meant to be on time for deliveries. Usually I can deliver so fast that I have lots of time but - I lost track of time. I didn’t mean for you to have to for me. I’m really really sorry, Miss J -”

Furiosa’s fingers clenched around the bowl and she straightened her spine. “Capable, come with me.” She whirled and headed for the back fridge, and judging by the number of footsteps that followed, it was not only Capable who trailed in after her. Furiosa allowed herself a minute to gather her calm before turning, and sure enough she found herself facing Angharad and the Dag as well as Capable. Angharad looked faintly mutinous, while Capable was struggling to hold back tears, and the Dag was humming tunelessly behind her curtain of white-blonde hair.

“Why didn’t you feel you could tell me about this?” Furiosa snapped, holding up the bowl.

“Well - just - your history,” Angharad said, her mouth twisting anxiously. “The whole patriarchy thing. We thought you didn’t like men.”

Furiosa gaped wordlessly for a moment, like a fish. “I don’t - not like - _men_ ,” she managed finally, a pair of stormy blue eyes flashing across her mind.

“Please don’t get mad,” Capable begged, her fingers twisting together. “I found him in the back one day a couple of months ago, fixing one of Cheedo’s pieces - I could tell that he had been paying attention. He’s good,” she finished defensively, shutting her mouth with a snap.

Furiosa turned the arrangement over in her hands, studying it. It _was_ good, she had to admit. Sturdy, well-balanced, and he obviously had an eye for color. Something that Cheedo needed to work on. “How long has this been going on? Is this why he’s always late and you’re never at your station?”

“Well, yes.” Capable bit her lip and looked down at her hands.

“We thought that if we taught him enough, eventually we could present him to you and you’d be so pleased that you’d hire him on the spot.” The Dag’s gaze was level and thoughtful, but a smile was tugging at her lips.

“The truth is that he’s just as good as most of us, and better than some,” Angharad said finally. “It would be silly to overlook that just because he’s got a shaved head and those dumb tattoos. You said it yourself when you helped us - people are not just clothes. People are not things.”

This was the reason Furiosa was so fond of Angharad, actually. She never made excuses, not for herself or for the world. She saw things as they were and took them as they were.

“Listen,” Furiosa sighed, rubbing at her forehead. “This - all of this - this isn’t about me being in charge. Or telling anyone how to live. I - I’m not angry that Nux is designing. I’m just a little sad that you felt you couldn’t tell me.”

Capable bit her lower lip and said softly, “I guess secrecy can be a hard habit to break. I really am sorry, and so is Nux - if you could have heard him -”

“We’ll figure something out about deliveries,” Furiosa said, laying a gentle hand on Capable’s shoulder. “I’ll do them if I have to. Will all of you leave - and send Nux in here to me?”

* * *

She showed up on his doorstep that evening, a sixpack of Bud Lite dangling from her flesh hand and a pizza tucked between her hip and her prosthetic hand, and when he opened the door she nodded wearily.

“Hey, I probably should have called first.” She hefted the beer and tried for a smile. “I brought a bribe.”

He let her in after a moment, and for the first time she wondered what she’d do if one of his projected three or four girlfriends was also in evidence. But no, it’s just him and the dog, who doesn’t appear to have a name any more than he does, but greets her with a level of enthusiasm that nearly knocks her on her rear.

“Sorry,” Mister I-Have-Pretty-Eyes-But-No-Apparent-Social-Skills muttered as he heaved the dog back and cleared some space on the couch. “Didn’t expect company.”

She surveyed the room and took in the piles of takeout boxes, empty beer bottles, junk mail, and crusty dishes that covered every surface. “So, I take it you don’t get out much?” she ventured, settling the pizza box on a leaning tower of unopened envelopes and Chinese takeout.

He stood looking around helplessly, as if he had just noticed the disaster that was his house, and she felt a pit open in her stomach for having shown up without warning and making him uncomfortable.

“Look,” she said, “I’m really just here because I need company, but I don’t know anyone else who wouldn’t talk my ear off. I don’t want to inconvenience you.” She hesitated. “Maybe I can - I don’t know. Help you tidy a bit? I promise it would be very stress-relieving for me.”

He hunched his shoulders and grumbled, which she took to be consent. The next two hours were almost better than hitting the gym - she spent a full half-hour just hauling boxes and papers to the empty trash bin in his backyard, which was overgrown with weeds and booby-trapped with presents from the dog. She dumped armfuls of dishes into the sink and ran hot water over them, soaking herself thoroughly as she scrubbed with an old sponge and copious amounts of soap.

They were sorting through some mail that she had hesitated to throw away when he startled her by speaking.

“Used to be a cop,” he said. He patted his leg and shook his head. “Guess I don’t get out enough these days.”

She had seen a framed picture in a dusty corner of the room, showing him with his arm around a smiling woman and a small child, but refrained from bringing it up. Instead, she leaned against him companionably and said, “You want this lovely letter from - um - City Gas and Electric? Again? Seriously, how do you even still _have_ power . . .”

“They call when they really want something,” he grumbled, taking the letter and throwing it in the refuse pile.

They finally dropped onto the couch, and Furiosa was glad to see that she wasn’t the only one who was literally trembling with hunger and exhaustion. She shucked off her prosthetic with a grateful moan and he stretched out his leg that had the brace. They dug into the cold pizza and guzzled down lukewarm beers, and he finally heaved himself off the couch to put in a movie - he apologized that the selection wasn’t very good, but it was some cheesy 80’s post-apocalyptic drama starring Mel Gibson when he was still hot and she found herself getting completely engrossed. When it was over he popped in the sequel, and by this time she was getting very warm and drowsy and the beer was making her head fuzzy. Halfway through the second movie she abruptly woke up to find that she was laying pressed against him, her arm nub going numb where it was caught between her rib cage and his hip, and she stiffened in acute embarrassment.

He caught her movement and very slowly untangled his arm from behind her, laying it over her shoulders and shifting so that she could move her arm to a more comfortable position.

“Sorry,” she muttered, still feeling as stiff as a board. “I must have fallen asleep.”

“It’s ok,” he said. “You looked tired. You don’t have to -” he hesitated. “If you don’t want to.”

She considered this. Well, really she _didn’t_ want to, in spite of the embarrassment thundering through her. “Maybe if we - I don’t know -” She turned her shoulder towards him in an effort to demonstrate, and he seemed to pick up on her meaning instantly. He turned so that one of his legs was lying against the back cushions, and the other dangled down to the floor, and put one arm on the back of the couch. She eased herself back so her back was against his chest, and sighed in relief. “Yeah, that’s good,” she murmured, instantly lulled back into sleepiness by the warmth and comfort. His other arm came up to hold her gently in place, and she sensed rather than saw him returning his gaze to the TV.

When she woke, it was morning and she was alone on the couch. And in the house, when she checked. She swallowed against the sudden ache in her stomach and left, carefully locking the door behind her. She pulled out her cell phone as she drove.

 

 

> _“Good morning Keep.”_
> 
> _“You sound like you don’t agree with that statement. You go out drinking with those hooligans you keep around the shop again?”_
> 
> _“Ugh - no. I mean, I am kinda hung over but - mostly I just feel like an idiot.”_
> 
> _“This better not be about some man. We’ve talked about this -”_
> 
> _“It’s not like that, Keep. He’s reliable. I just don’t really know where we stand.”_
> 
> _“Did you bang him?”_
> 
> _“Keep! No. I mean, I slept over at his house. But nothing_ happened. _”_
> 
> _“Huh. Sure.”_
> 
> _“Gotta go to work. And Keep - when I come visit you I’d better not hear about this from every Betty on your floor. Just because you don’t have a life doesn’t mean you get to gossip about mine.”_
> 
> _“Gossip? Me?”_
> 
> _“BYE Keep._
> 
>  

_Author's Note:_

So I did a reference sketch of couch cuddling and then it kinda turned into an actual drawing so here you go :)


	4. Mr. I-Think-A-Leather-Jacket-Is-A-Wonderful-Choice-For-Midday-In-A-Desert-In-August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST DONE FOLKS
> 
> Like I said, I didn't want to get into the darker stuff but I really had to allude to it. Even in a fluffy fic, Max is gonna have issues with attachment and Furiosa is gonna need someone to get her back (bc even in an AU the Wives are her children and you don't lean on your children right?).
> 
> SO hopefully I have made all that clear enough without spelling it out. This was gonna be the last chapter but I think it needed to be split up.
> 
> BLESS ALL OF YOU WHO COMMENTED AND LEFT KUDOS I WILL HAVE ALL YOUR NAMES CARVED ONTO MY GRAVESTONE (which will be soon bc Tom Hardy is killing me)

“Thank _goodness_ that’s over,” Angharad muttered, sinking into one of the seats at the consulting table and burying her face in her hands.

Furiosa ran a hand over Angharad’s shoulders and murmured, “You did an amazing job. I’m proud of you.”

“At least Old Joe didn’t complain about the flowers _as I was actually setting them out_ ,” the blonde girl said. “Although he did slap my rear a few times.”

“Did he?” Furiosa’s hand stilled. “I didn’t see. Should I go rip his arm off?”

“Not worth the trouble,” Angharad said, smiling faintly. “I’ve had worse, believe me.” She turned and seized Furiosa’s hand as the other woman made to walk away, and gazed up at her friend. “Actually, I wanted to ask you. How are _you_ doing?”

Furiosa’s forehead wrinkled. “Me? Fine. I’m always fine.”

Angharad tilted her head, a look of polite disbelief twitching the corners of her mouth. “It’s ok to not be fine.” When Furiosa didn’t respond, she said quietly, “It’s been almost three weeks. And I see you looking.”

Furiosa longed to rage against this accusation, deny it vehemently. But she couldn’t, not when it was the simple truth. Every time the bell rang, her head would jerk around. Every time, even as she cursed herself for it. Every time it would turn out to be a nice old lady looking for flowers for her Thanksgiving table, or a young man wanted a couple of roses for his girlfriend, or a bride coming in with her parents for a consult. No broad shoulders shifting uncomfortably under a leather jacket. No flash of blue eyes when they met hers. No comfortable warmth holding her as she fell asleep.

She smiled sadly down at Angharad. “Really. It’s sweet of you to worry about me. I’m doing fine.”

“We’re all headed out to Gastown tonight,” Capable said from across the room, throwing a smile like a flower. Nux was sitting next to her, his nose almost touching the ironplant leaf he was curling. He grinned up at Furiosa.

“Gonna paint the town red,” he said in the intense tone he usually reserved for talking about Capable.

“Oh - thanks. Can’t tonight.” Furiosa had never worried about an excuse before, but she found herself fumbling for one. “Promised an old friend I’d pay them a visit.”

* * *

She entered the nursing home holding the flowers in front of her like a shield, as if she wouldn’t be let in without them. It was quiet at night, not a lot of visitors or activity, but the nurse smiled in a friendly fashion as she stalked across the lobby to the elevator.

There were two elderly people in the cramped metal box with her and she pressed herself against the wall, enjoying the cool through the thin fabric of her shirt. When the elevator expelled her into a hallway lined on either side with identical doors, she sucked in a deep breath through her nose.

 _You can do this, Furiosa_ , she told herself.

But the place smelled too familiar, too much like the place where her mother was taken away from her, and she had to force down panic as she paced down the hall. Finally she came to a familiar number and raised her hand to knock.

“Come in,” a quivering voice called. She opened the door and forced a smile as she entered the room, holding out the flowers like a talisman.

The Keeper was there, sitting in a chair by the window, stroking the leaves of the plants she was growing in the sunlight stroking through the muslin curtains in broad beams. She looked around when Furiosa entered and a smile danced across her face. “Oh my! I’d know those eyes anywhere. Mary Jobassa’s girl. The little fury.”

“It’s good to see you, Keep,” Furiosa said, bending to wrap her prosthetic arm around the old woman’s trembling body. When they broke apart, the Keeper’s strong bony hand reached around the back of Furiosa’s head, pressing their foreheads together for several long breaths.

“It’s wonderful to see you, too, child,” the Keeper said, a quiver in her voice. She released Furiosa and turned back to her plants, hurriedly wiping at her cheeks with a shriveled hand. “How’s that shop of yours?” she asked when she turned around again after a moment.

Furiosa placed the arrangement that Angharad had made on the table by the Keeper’s pots, and allowed the old woman to exclaim over it for a few moments.

“Oh my, these are much better than my last flowers. Don’t put them in the window, girl, you should know better. Over here on my old stand, where the sun can’t get at them.” She hobbled around, clucking as Furiosa arranged the stand to her satisfaction, and took away the old flowers that were mostly wilted. She was halfway to throwing them in the trash when she took a better look at them, and her hands and her steps halted.

It was a distressingly familiar, derivative piece, all orange roses and baby’s breath. She could practically see her own fingerprints on it.

“Keep?” she said finally, when she remembered how to breathe, “Who brought you those flowers?”

“Those?” The Keeper glanced around from the window, a pleased smile wreathing her lips. “Just some nice boy who comes around a couple times a week. Always gives flowers to someone new every time.”

Furiosa is, astonishingly, blinking tears out of her eyes. “Nice boy? Do you know his name?”

“No - doesn’t talk much. Some of the old biddies have a bit of a crush on him, but when I look at him all I see is - sad. Sorrowing. Probably lost someone, I think.” The Keeper glanced at Furiosa’s face and blinked in astonishment. “Do you know him?”

“Well, I - I guess not,” Furiosa said, rubbing one of the rose leaves between her fingers. “Hey - um, I should go. It’s been lovely to see you.”

She pressed a kiss to the wrinkled old cheek and walked - stumbled, rather - out of the nursing home.

* * *

The house was dark and deserted-looking when she got there. When she knocked, she heard a dog barking from somewhere in the recesses, and she knocked again, firmly.

Finally, the door creaked open and he looked out blearily, holding the wiggling dog between his knees. His hair was sticking in every direction and he was dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt, and she had to fight back an astonishing urge to grab him by the collar and drag him in for a kiss.

He mumbled, and it sounded like a cross between a query and an apology. She brushed it aside and stepped past him into the house. The dog broke loose and charged after her, dancing around with his tongue lolling out. She patted his head and walked to the couch, settling herself down while looking around in chagrin at the astonishing amount of debris that had already accumulated. He settled himself gingerly onto the other side of the couch, his shoulders hunched and his gaze darting around.

“You said you weren’t working, right?” She leaned forward, and astonishingly, he held her gaze.

“Yeah.”

“I’m not -” she hesitated, frowning at the space between them. “I’m not asking for much of anything. I realize I’ve been sort of -” She shuddered. “Throwing myself at you. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’m not here about that.”

He was silent for a long moment, and when she raised her gaze she saw that he was staring at her as one might a ghost.

“Look, I’m down a delivery man,” she said, trusting that the forthright approach was the best way to go with him. “My current one is transitioning into a designer. I’d do it myself but I’m already drowning in paperwork. It’s not a glamorous job, and I can’t pay much more than minimum wage, but . . .” She trailed off, letting him come to his own conclusions.

He glanced around the room in that frustratingly vague way of his, as if he wasn’t sure if it was all a mirage anyway. He let out an uncertain hum.

She nodded in understanding, fished out one of her cards from her wallet, and handed it to him. “Call me when you decide. Um, Angharad’s number is on there too, if you’d be more comfortable. Yeah.” She stood, flesh hand clutching at her prosthetic arm, and nodded once. “But you don’t have to stay away just because of . . . whatever I did to upset you.”

She strode back down the hallway and let herself out, breathing deeply through her nose as she pulled away from the curb and down the dark road.

 

> _"Hey Keep. I know you're probably sleeping right now, so don't worry that you didn't pick up. Just wanted to hear your voice. Remember when my - my mom used to braid my hair and sing? I don't know, sometimes I just miss her a lot. I used to talk to her, after . . . um. After, sometimes, when I would get lonely. Guess I miss having someone to talk to._
> 
> _"Anyway, I love you and I hope you have a good sleep. Bye."_


	5. Max

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guh I have nothing here. I AM TRASH FOR THIS SHIP.
> 
> Thanks for coming down this little rabbit hole with me :) Your kind words have made me beyond happy and you all deserve to find $20 on the sidewalk today.

Midnight found her sitting by the window in her apartment, wrapped in a blanket, staring out at the dark city sprawled all around her. She flexed her flesh hand and felt the phantom hand that she could sometimes sense in the space beyond her nub also twitching. She rubbed at the rounded end of the nub and grimaced as phantom pain spread downward.

The doorbell rang. She turned her head, incredulous, and double-checked the time on her watch. Finally, she got up, pulling her blanket more tightly around her, and padded on bare feet to the door. She looked through the peephole and felt her entire body twitch.

He was glancing up and down the hallway when she pulled the door open, but when he saw her he didn’t look away. They stood in astonished silence for a long moment, before he broke tradition by speaking first.

“Angharad gave me your address,” he said. “She told me - uh - ‘it’s about time.’”

“What does she mean by that?” Furiosa asked, feeling her eyebrows drawing together.

He didn’t speak for almost a minute, but he doesn’t look away either. When he finally casts his gaze down and speaks, she feels as if a spell has lifted off her. Like she can draw breath again.

“I - thought you’d realized,” he said finally. Cleared his throat and looked up at her again. “All the times I - all the flowers. I was hoping to see you.”

Something warm and bright was blossoming in her chest. She swallowed hard, afraid it would start spilling out of her like lava, and stepped back to allow him in. He stepped past her, gazing around her darkened rooms. She led him to the living room and settled down onto the couch, barely daring to look at him. He stood, fidgeting slightly, then spoke.

“About the job.”

For a long moment she thought that was all she would get from him. Then he met her eyes and nodded thoughtfully.

“When are the pickup times?” he asked.

She let out a long breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding and suppressed a grin. “Come to my office tomorrow, and we can hash out the details,” she said.

He nodded, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. Then he jerked his head at the TV and mumbled, “I, uh, brought the third movie.”

Furiosa smiled, and waited until he had set up the movie and dropped onto the couch before scooting towards him. He said nothing, simply let her settle herself into him. If he heard her long sigh of contentment, he didn’t say anything. And if she noticed the arm he settled gently around her, she didn’t mention it.

The improbable 80’s synthtrack blared at her, and she felt her eyes beginning to slip closed. She was almost asleep when she heard his voice whispering into her ear.

“Something you should know. Max,” he said, his stubble tickling the side of her face. “My name is Max.”

She smiled, leaning into his solid warmth more deeply. She felt him nod and whisper again.

“That’s my name.”

 

> _“Morning Keep.”_
> 
> _“Hey girlie, you actually sound like you mean that today.”_
> 
> _“Remind me to come see you more often.”_
> 
> _“I do every time you call! But do you listen.”_
> 
> _“Hey, I’m late for work again -”_
> 
> _“Is it that man again?”_
> 
> _“Keep. I mean, yes it is.”_
> 
> _“Could’ve guessed. Did ‘nothing’ happen again?”_
> 
> _“I’m hanging up now. Love you.”_
> 
> _“Sure. I’ll just take whatever leftovers this guy has left me.”_
> 
> _“Bye Keep.”_


End file.
